


Our Vacay

by drea_rev



Category: Bayonetta (Video Games)
Genre: Bayojeanne, Bisexual Character, Day At The Beach, Drunkenness, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Jeannetta - Freeform, Lesbian Character, Mutual Pining, Relaxing, Swearing, Swimming, Tequila, Tourism, Vacation, bi Bayonetta, lesbian Jeanne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-01 03:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13989738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drea_rev/pseuds/drea_rev
Summary: Just Bayonetta and Jeanne on vacation. Some mutual pining. Mostly a lot of sunshine and sass. Takes place before my fic "the morning after" but after the events of Bayo1. Based on a lot of real life experience.





	1. Chapter 1

Their first vacation together had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, really. On the way home from Vigrid--and from the ruins of Isla del Sol--Bayonetta had suggested a pit stop at a reasonably priced hotel for the weekend before braving the transpacific flight. It seemed like a grand idea. And Jeanne remembered very little after checking in.

She was able to find pieces if she thought back hard enough; taking a long, scalding shower while thinking about how Balder's tendrils of control had warped her behavior, using copious amounts of shampoo as if she could wash the mind control away; glancing out the window, and walking downstairs. The next thing she remembered was waking up to Jack Nicholson's face on their room's flat-screen TV as he screamed " _Heeeeere's Johnnnyyy_!", and realizing she was now the friend who had to be cradled like a baby when inebriated.

"Sweetie," Jeanne whimpered, the headache feeling like a truck was parked on half of her face, "Did I do anything...stupid?"

Bayonetta looked down at her from the television. "You're fine," she said quietly.

"I'm...I'm going to try to...get a water from the minibar," Jeanne said, and tried to lift her head from Bayonetta's lap, but the other witch gently put her hand on her shoulder.

"Ah. Jeanne. Um. You're going to throw up again. You've got water right here."

" _Where_?"

"Right here. Drink it, here...there's a good girl. You'll feel better soon, dear. Don't drink it all at once."

 _Look at me, shotgunning water_ , Jeanne thought with shame. She waited a few moments before sipping at a more reasonable speed. It was like bathing her brain with ice, which was just what she needed.

And, although she would glance over credit card transactions at home that she _certainly_ didn't remember, she realized that weekend had needed to happen one way or another. She had crashed the system and restarted it in safe mode. She'd even waved away liquor during the flight.

But she didn't want to do that again a year later.

 

 _B_  

 

That was why Jeanne had elected to take an early night. The window was open, warm salty breezes tickling the green curtains, and the moon was just out of sight. The TV was off, so were the lights; everything except a scented candle Jeanne had packed, making the room smell like _beautiful_. She could hear the palm fronds rustling in the wind, occasional cars zooming by on the road outside, the road that separated them from the beach.

It was hard to believe it'd been a year since their last 'vacation' together. Bayonetta had dressed to the nines and left to go clubbing a couple hours before. She had looked over to Jeanne in askance, nodding in the direction of the door. And Jeanne felt a thrill of gratitude that she hadn't made the offer out loud, for some reason. Bayonetta had the gift of picking up on her sometimes...just feeling better leaving things unsaid.

And so she shook her head with a smile. _Thanks, but I'm good, have a good time_.

Once some of her students told her that they were relieved she didn't seem to like hearing the sound of her own voice as much as the other teachers. And although she had responded with a smile and a shrug, it made her wonder. Maybe the reason a lot of teachers became teachers was to make a captive audience listen to them speaking for hours. It certainly seemed the case with University professors, one of whom she'd had the misfortune of speaking to at a garden party a week ago.

 _Like Luka_ , she'd thought to herself as the man explained a concept the entire group already knew with a self-satisfied smirk, _except not as handsome_.

Except Luka was far more interesting and honorably motivated than Jeanne gave him credit for. One of the thoughts she often pushed away was that she was jealous of him. On a deep, unspoken level she could accept being attracted to Bayonetta; you'd have to have never seen her not to, to be honest. But since that thought went against the hard moral standard that she shouldn't be attracted to friends, especially straight ones, it was easier to turn her frustration to Luka.

She heard the card key zap the door open, and stumbling steps. Then, a heavy weight slammed down on the other side of her mattress. She finally sat up.

"Is someone home?"

Bayonetta had completely missed her own bed--an accomplishment, since it had been closer--and was lying facedown on Jeanne's, just as if she was one of the crocodiles at the zoo they'd been to yesterday. The reptiles were delightfully portly and seemed to enjoy sunbathing, with just a tail languidly dipped in their pond. "Oh, did someone have a good time?"

No answer. Not even a moan or giggle.

Jeanne slid her hands under Bayonetta's armpits--drunk people were babies, babies were drunk people--and gently picked her upper body up. Bayonetta's head moved limply on her neck, her messy hair dangling, her lipstick rubbed off by God knows how many drink rims, straws, possibly people. Her eyeliner had stayed on like magic, though.

Jeanne moved Bayonetta to one shoulder, stood up, pulled aside one of the sheets of the other bed and flopped the woman back on the pillow. Except that wasn't how things went. Bayonetta's arms had somehow wrapped around her neck, so she went down on top of the witch, landing against her shoulder.

"Baby," Bayonetta murmured, in that voice people have toward the end of six to eight shots of tequila. Capital-D Drunk.

"Fuckin' Looney Tunes," Jeanne muttered, unwrapping Bayonetta's arms, with some difficulty. No matter how wasted she was, Bayonetta's grip was still a damned boa constrictor when she wanted it to be. Jeanne pushed off and tucked the witch in.

"Jeanne."

"No."

" _Jeanne_."

Jeanne shook her head at her friend. "We never grow up. Hundreds of years. Can't believe it." She pulled off Bayonetta's heels from under the sheet and dropped them off the bed.

" _Jeanne, baby_."

"Go to sleep."

Finally, a giggle escaped the witch, and she rolled her head to the left to look at Jeanne from her pillow as she returned to her own bed. Jeanne looked back, partly with amusement, and then with a sinking realization that she was having all the wrong feelings in response to this stimulus. All the wrong thoughts. So even though Bayonetta's glittering eyes were a couple feet away, separated by a table with a bible in it, she pulled the sheet over her face and shut her eyes.

 

_B_

 

"Jeanne? Wake up. What did I say last night?! Jeanne! _Wake up_!"

A pair of hands were shaking her through the sheets. Jeanne pulled off the sheets to see a very upset Bayonetta, towel wrapped around her hair. Birdsong flitted into the window.

"What?"

"What did I say last night?! When I got back?! Bayonetta was uncharacteristically losing her cool.

"I don't know. You were hammered. Did you have a good time?"

Bayonetta fell with her butt against her mattress and put her hands on her kneecaps, then interlaced them, looked at her hands, and then looked at Jeanne again. "Did I...did I do anything ridiculous?"

"I mean I wasn't at the club? You didn't promise to house swap with a strange German couple or something, did you?" They'd seen some pretty weird tourists around. Vacation destinations, it seemed, tended to attract pretty curious types; not that a pair of hundreds of year old witches wearing bikinis made of their own hair were normal or anything, but they at least didn't fight with the employees at tiny sushi spots to show off the fact that they knew what rice the traditional restaurants were supposed to use, despite this being Mexico and the price for that rice variety being exorbitant at Costco. Then there'd been the old man fighting with a convenience store worker about the beer costing what amounted to one US dollar. "I'm going to tell your boss that you're doing this," he'd said before storming out. Jeanne had raised eyebrows at the store's staff before taking her time picking out some choice spicy mango candy while Bayonetta joked with them about how he was paying considerably more for the Viagra and not yelling at the pharmacist back home about it.

"I don't mean that. Jeanne--what did I say to you?"

Bayonetta's cheeks were aflame. Jeanne buried those most inconvenient of feelings and got out of bed, looking out the window. She turned back to Bayonetta. "You just kept repeating my name. Stop beating yourself up."

The relief that fell into Bayonetta's shoulders, the fear that vanished from her eyes; she flopped on her back with the deepest exhalation that Jeanne had ever heard. Jeanne smirked and threw her beach towel at her. Bayonetta caught it with her crotch.

"Just kidding. You did a really bad striptease on my bed. A disco ball came out of the ceiling. I threw my Walgreens card at you and went back to sleep."

Bayonetta laughed, and the tension her body was losing through that laugh was almost palpable. Jeanne slid open the balcony door and basked for a moment in the soft breeze, the look of yellow asphalt with teen local skateboarders clattering by, the palm trees, and the painfully bright sun reflected on the ocean. There was a stink of seaweed and boat fuel in the air, too, grounding it in the reality of a place that people lived in every day, not someplace that vanished when their vacation ended.

"Let's go," Jeanne called softly back into the room, leaning on the railing. Everything from the notary's building to the gates of people's houses around them was beautiful for some reason in this light. Bushes of pink and red bougainvilleas and hibiscus lined alleyways. "Let's go for a walk, Bayonetta. We can make a sand castle."

There was a sound and she turned to see Bayonetta next to her, resting her elbows on the railing. She surveyed the view too, but then glanced at Jeanne.

"Want to come next time?"

Jeanne pulled her own brightly colored beach towel off the railing and folded it. "They...very likely...don't have the kind of clubs I'm into down here."

She slipped back inside and dropped the towel on her bed, topping it with some mirrored shades.

"We could look to see," Bayonetta said from the balcony. "I admit, the ones I went to last night might have been a bit classy for your taste."

" _Classy_ ," Jeanne said with a smirk.

Her sunscreen landed on the towel, knocking the sunglasses aside.

"The music might have been a bit--how do I say this-- _live_."

"You know me, I like it freshly killed."

"Of course. Actually, do you mind if I ask you something?"

This sudden pivot from their tennis match of teasing made Jeanne look up from the suitcase she was digging through for her bucket hat. "Of...course?"

So Bayonetta _was_ actually getting ready for the beach. A similar pile was forming on her own mattress, albeit one with a couple more spine-cracked, dog-eared, weatherbeaten cheesy romance novels from the hotel lounge.

"Are you seeing anybody right now?"

Jeanne turned the reversible hat over in her hands, rubbed at its stitching. It suddenly looked unfashionable instead of, how she'd seen it at home, functional for sun protection.

"I'll have a fling or two in the summer, Bayonetta...during the school year it's just...I don't want to put someone through that, I always take work home..."

Bayonetta nodded without speaking, and dropped her earbuds on top of her own hat, a pretty straw one with a wide brim.

 

_B_

 

The water ran over their bare feet and it felt odd walking at the slight incline the sea made the smooth wet sand into. Jeanne looked to her left and wanted to drink in the blue, the screaming of the seagulls, the occasional pelican, the black stinky seaweed the ocean vomited up; all of it. She wanted to put it in her bag and take it home to look at over and over. She felt a gentle tap on her right arm and stopped, turning to see Bayonetta crouched down over a shell. It was smaller than a finger, and spiraled to a point, pink and beige with pretty dark red patterns.

"Is a hermit crab going to find it and live in it?" Bayonetta asked, turning it over in her hands.

"Yes," Jeanne said automatically. "If their body fits inside. They outgrow shells frequently--sometimes they use plastic trash. They have a ritual where they exchange shells with other crabs. They line up largest to smallest and all switch their shells."

"That's house swapping."

Jeanne made a husky chortle. "Whatever."

"What was in it before, anyway? If a hermit crab uses it secondhand."

As Bayonetta stood up with a knee crusted in sand, holding the shell, Jeanne shook her head. "I'm a teacher. You cannot ask me a question like that and not expect to be bored out of your mind for twenty-five minutes."

"Okay first off," Bayonetta held up the shell, "This has nothing to do with history."

"That's what Ty said when I made them watch the documentary."

"You're a history teacher why would you show a documentary on hermit crab--"

Jeanne put a finger to Bayonetta's lips. "Well, like Somaya told Ty, ' _shut up we're getting credit for this and it's cute_ '."

"That must be a violation of state curriculu--" Bayonetta stopped midsentence. Then she raised a finger to point at Jeanne's face. "You don't. Have a pet hermit crab in your classroom. _In your class about world history_."

"His name is Charles."

Bayonetta rolled her eyes and leaned her head back before looking back at Jeanne. " _This is why!_ This is why you looked at me like that while I had the crab legs at dinner--"

"I wasn't going to say anything--"

"--I was eviscerating Charles's cousin right in front of you and _you weren't going to say anything_ \--"

"Look," Jeanne said, "When you take care of them for years--they have a certain _smell_ when they're _old_ , or _dirty_ , and--cooked crabs have the same--"

"No! No!" Bayonetta covered her ears, one of her hands still holding the shell.

Jeanne smirked. "Can you hear the ocean?"

"It's right next to me, of cou--OHHHH YOU--!" Jeanne ran off while Bayonetta pursued her; the witch managed to get away somehow, possibly due to more pretty shells needing to be looked at, and stretched her towel over the sand in a not-too-crowded area. The wind was stronger here, and kept moving her towel and sending bits of sand flying onto it. She glanced over to see an empty lifeguard chair.

 _Guess we're on our own_. She had a stray, protective thought of Bayonetta and pushed it down; _she's an adult, she can take care of herself_. Besides, the waves were small, nothing an Umbra witch couldn't handle.

That was when Bayonetta landed on her back and wrapped her arms around Jeanne's neck. "You never answered my question!"

Jeanne laughed involuntarily and put up a tiny amount of struggle as Bayonetta held her. "Sea snails! Sometimes bivalves and scaphopods. Sometimes pieces of wood if they're hollow, rocks, anything that's big enough--they have to protect their back end, it's soft. They're really swapping armor."

"And why do they need shells to begin with? Why don't regular crabs need shells?" Bayonetta pointed to one, almost invisible against the white sand, crawling sideways and disappearing into a hole in the sand the size of a silver dollar pancake.

"They have armor of their own. The hermit crab has a curved soft abdomen that keeps growing. Sometimes it fights over shells with other crabs if there aren't enough shells."

"So you won't let me take these home," Bayonetta dumped two handfuls of shells on the towel in front of her.

"I...wasn't going to say anything," Jeanne said. God--Bayonetta was still wrapped around her, and the closeness was too much, but she just couldn't push away. If she didn't say anything about it, Bayonetta wouldn't be weirded out...and she might keep doing it.

And Jeanne hadn't realized she was this starved for touch.

"I am _taking homes away_ from your pets."

"Whatever. Let's use them to make the sandcastle extra grand."

Bayonetta opted to take a dip first, so Jeanne started the sandcastle on her own, glancing over occasionally to make sure Bayonetta's head was still above water while pretending not to. _She'll just think I'm annoyed with her for leaving me the hard architectural work, it'll be fine_.

When Bayonetta did come bounding out of the foamy waves like something out of _Baywatch_ , she slapped Jeanne on the back as she came around her. Wet. Very wet.

"You don't want your towel?" Jeanne said, looking up at her while shaping the first tower.

"No, why? You're coming to swim for real with me after, right?"

"Right," Jeanne looked down immediately at the sand. Playing with Bayonetta in the water seemed like a literal slippery slope into the best kind of disaster. Especially with her questions earlier--Jeanne should have said something, anything else, although she was pretty sure Bayonetta knew what was up.

Bayonetta set a shell, point side up, on top of Jeanne's tower. It _did_ look grand. Jeanne wanted to live inside it.

"I could steal that kid's buckets," Bayonetta said. " _Wow_ , now, if looks could kill, missus goody two shoes, I was _joking_!"

"You were serious," Jeanne said with a voice full of murder.

"Well he's not using them right now."

" _Already_ halfway to hell. No wonder you're the superior heir to the Umbra."

"Well _now_ he picked one of them up. All I'm saying is we need some sort of shaping tool to get a proper parapet set up. The parapets you make by pinching the sand just looks like pyramids."

Jeanne self-consciously returned to the parapets and tried to sprinkle some more wet sand on them to make them rectangular-esque, but the droplets of water from her hand tended to make it look partially melted. She felt another wet hand, this time at her shoulder, but she was too focused to look up. Suddenly a child's voice came from behind her.

"Hi, do you wanna use my buckets?"

The boy had to be four or five, holding his father's hand, and he dropped two sand-shaping buckets in front of them. Jeanne looked at him and smiled. "You are so nice! Thank you! Bayonetta, say thank you!"

"Thank you, dear. Are you going swimming? Be careful."

"Papa's with me," the kid said, and his father smiled as they walked into the surf holding hands. Jeanne felt a warm glow as she turned back to their little castle. Bayonetta wasted no time in refurbishing the parapets. She rapidly shoveled sand in and made several more buildings, which Jeanne attached to the earlier ones by forming a wall. Bayonetta topped each building with a seashell. The kid came over after his swim and played with them for a bit, telling them stories, before him and his father had to go to lunch. Jeanne and Bayonetta bid them a warm farewell.

"I didn't realize it was already lunchtime. What do you feel like?" Jeanne said. She had already taken copious photos of their castle, but she just had to admire it some more.

Bayonetta's voice came in far too close to her ear. "You promised. Swimming."

"Oh."

 _Oh_.

 

_B_

 

Jeanne was several kinds of not ready.

She wasn't ready for the coolness to wrap her whole body, sending delicious chills through her and washing off the sweat. She wasn't prepared to be splashed by a wave right in the face, making her cough and spit, and making Bayonetta laugh her ass off.

"Go fuck yourself, Bayonetta, I bet that happened to you when you first ran in!" Jeanne coughed the last bit of salt water out, but it was definitely still in her nose and her eyes were stinging. That was her daily sodium intake taken care of. She paddled a bit farther, wanting to lose the sensation of wet sand underfoot.

"Jeanne. There's no lifeguard."

"Shut up!"

"This isn't a dick-measuring contest. Get back here."

Jeanne whipped around to face her. "Did you just say--of _all the things you could have said_ \--"

Bayonetta said, "Sometimes it feels like that, with you! What can I say?"

"I was being controlled by Balder back then!"

"What, when we were...no, I didn't mean that," Bayonetta swam closer. "It's just that you're being a little too careful. Relax, all right? I mean..."

The statement was completely contradictory. Jeanne stared at the other witch for a few moments, and then Bayonetta swam behind her and put her hands on Jeanne's shoulders. It was non-obtrusive, and Jeanne realized it was a sign. That Bayonetta was waiting for her to communicate how comfortable she was with being held in the water.

And Jeanne was _absolutely_ not ready to be given that choice.

If Bayonetta had playfully, forcefully grabbed her without asking, that would've almost protected her. But now _she_ had taken Bayonetta's hands and wrapped them around her shoulders. Now it was _her_ fault that she and Bayonetta were touching. This was why people hogged the bathroom to fuck in it, Jeanne realized. Water was a magical intimacy enhancer, and Bayonetta wasn't clutching her too tightly, or gripping her at all, but felt so close by virtue of their shared buoyancy.

_This is not going to become my fantasy. This is not going to become my fantasy. This is not going to become--_

Bayonetta rested her head on the part of Jeanne's back between her neck and shoulder. Jeanne took a deep breath, but she wasn't going to tell her to move off. She wanted this like air.

"Just trying...to not make you uncomfortable. That's all," Jeanne said.

"Oh?"

Jeanne took a few minutes to collect herself, then turned and continued paddling farther out. Bayonetta didn't seem to slow her down at all, and it was a thrill to think that she might be quietly enjoying the ride.

The waves were hardly noticeable the farther out they went. And there were still people swimming out at this depth, just not families, and some of them had snorkels. Jeanne wondered if they should buy some...but then they only had a couple of days left.

"Are you going to dive?" Bayonetta asked, with a challenging lilt to her voice. It was hardly above a whisper, but she was so close to Jeanne's ear she could hear her perfectly. And her chin was resting on Jeanne's shoulder blade...

"With...with you?"

"Do you think I can't handle it? I _was_ under a lake for centuries. Just tell me when."

"When," Jeanne murmured.

She waited to hear Bayonetta take a breath, and then slipped under the surface, kicking strongly up and gliding across the blue mesh of light playing on the sand. Everything was clear, even if it stung her eyes a little bit. When they were at the floor, Bayonetta grabbed a handful of it, and everything clouded. Jeanne broke the surface a few moments later, then turned to her passenger. " _Smooth_."

"I saw a crab."

" _My ass_."

"No, not your ass. I mean I saw that too. But I also saw a crab."

"We need to go have lunch."

"One more dive! I won't do that again, Jeanne!"

Jeanne looked around--no one else was swimming at this depth. It was probably a good idea to head back. Bayonetta was, in a way, her tandem skydiver.

"Jeanne?"

"Just a moment, I'm catching my breath."

Bayonetta leaned her cheek and ear on Jeanne's back. "So...you mentioned you have a fling or two in the summer?"

Jeanne's heart rate spiked.

"Who pays?"

"What?"

"Who pays for the date if it's a fling?"

That was definitely a gender question. Oh did Bayonetta think she was clever.

"I don't get paid enough. And I'm too proud to make it a gift, if that's what you're asking. Splitting it only makes sense. The real gift is the time."

Bayonetta didn't respond to that, probably still reeling from the fact that she wasn't going to get a direct _I'm a lesbian_ from her Jet-Ski, and Jeanne decided to hit back.

"Do you and Luka...fight over the check?"

"I mean," Bayonetta said in a weird voice, "yes, but then he complains."

"About what?"

Bayonetta didn't answer. Which was a shame, because deep down Jeanne really _would_ have liked to know what someone who got to date Bayonetta had to complain about.


	2. Chapter 2

Bayonetta voted for shopping--she needed alebrijes for decorating her house and possibly frightening future visitors--and Jeanne was adamant that they needed to hit up the aviary.

"We already went to the zoo! That's just a zoo for birds!"

Jeanne raised her eyebrows as she dropped her camera into a purple huichol rucksack. Bayonetta folded her arms and paced around her. "Well, I suppose we could go shopping after. We can take a late dinner, right?"

They'd wound up getting sushi for lunch, because the restaurant hit the sweet spot of tucked away and breezy at the same time, and because there were no old people in shorts present. They'd walked past quite a few restaurants with tourists in critical capacity.

"Come on. Let's go look at birds," Bayonetta said, tapping Jeanne's shoulder to bring her out of her reverie.

"You won't have fun."

"Of course I will! You take me too seriously!"

Jeanne glanced at her with interest. "It's because they remind you of...of angels, isn't it?"

Bayonetta snapped, "You're just guessing! You aren't even--you aren't _asking_ me, you're making a wild guess!"

"I'm usually right."

There was a little bit of an uneasy silence. Jeanne had been under Balder's control while making some of those 'right guesses'...and taken advantage of Bayonetta's weaknesses while doing so.

Jeanne turned back. "I didn't mean--"

"It's fine--"

"--on the sinking plane--"

"You weren't in control, drop it," Bayonetta's voice was flat.

Jeanne was rather grateful.

"If you want to come...but it's all right if you want to meet up here later and then get dinner," Jeanne turned back to her bag. "Or..."

"All right."

By the way Bayonetta was looking at her, leaning against the minibar, Jeanne didn't think it was.

"If I can't come, can I at least dress you?"

That comment came out of left field. Jeanne actually wasn't sure it had come from any field at all. 

Jeanne looked down at herself: silk blouse, linen skirt, sandals. She looked back at Bayonetta in confusion.

" _This_ will offend the birds?"

"Very much," Bayonetta pushed her in front of their full-length mirror on the wardrobe they handn't gotten around to packing into and patted her shoulders while they both looked the outfit over. "And any hermit crabs you might find, as well."

 Jeanne said, out of the corner of her lips, "you're _full_ of it."

She wasn't even wearing the bucket hat today. And it hadn't even been an issue. People on that beach were _proposing to each other_ wearing bucket hats. The birds at this aviary probably saw so many khaki cargo shorts and collared t-shirts from Aeropostale and Crocs that it was their entire frame of reference for the human species; _oh this tall bird has this type of plumage_.

Jeanne was just about to point this out to her friend when Bayonetta's fingers flitted down the front of her shirt, undoing mother-of-pearl buttons all the way.

"Bayo-- _Cereza_!"

Bayonetta slipped the shirt off her shoulders. "Ooh, wearing _only a bikini_ in your hotel room, _scandalous_."

" _Warn me_ next time!"

Jeanne turned and slapped at Bayonetta's ass. She was surprised when it connected, because damned if it had been hard to get a direct hit on the witch while they were actually fighting. Bayonetta just laughed before wrapping Jeanne's shoulders and chest in something soft and white. 

"But you're my doll," Bayonetta said as she gripped Jeanne's lapels and tugged, as if checking over the way the garment fit. 

They were inches apart, and filled the gap when their eyes met. Bayonetta smiled in a light way. A smile you could drink with or without ice.  She broke away to fetch a set of dark trousers, which she threw over her shoulder and Jeanne deftly caught, taking off her skirt and slipping easily into them.

"Now, a belt."

"I didn't bring one...we're on vacation."

Bayonetta didn't answer, but turned Jeanne back to face the mirror, and they both looked over her again. And then Jeanne noticed the shirt didn't have sleeves, and had a simple collar but a flowy embroidered design in white across the lapels; white on white. It made her look tan, no matter how pale she actually was. And it fit her like it had been tailored--and was even lighter than the silk had been, somehow.

The pants were slim fit, but not clinging to her skin, like jeans would in this weather. And their color really made the outfit dignified. Bayonetta's hands slipped around her waist as she snaked a belt through the loops.

The buckle was dark brass, and the leather was stained a yellow-green blond color, and tooled in a faint design, and Jeanne ran her hands over the tooling to feel it. The grooves and shapes felt so smooth. It was an incredibly unique accessory...so timeless and well-made, too...

She looked back up at the mirror, and noticed Bayonetta looking quite appreciative of her reaction, eyes glittering, nestled over Jeanne's shoulder with her chin.

"Look how fine she looks, my doll," Bayonetta whispered, and brushed Jeanne's earring with the back of her hand.

Jeanne looked back over at her. "Someone went shopping without me?"

"It's a present. Look how wonderful it looks on you--"

Jeanne turned and smushed her forehead against Bayonetta's. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I found it yesterday... _before_ I rolled into the club."

Jeanne scratched her under the chin, like she was a cat. "You had no business looking for souvenirs for someone who came with you, sweetie."

Bayonetta's response was to cluck dismissively while cradling Jeanne's face in her hands. "Maybe I just know your style."

The complement embedded itself into Jeanne. She inhaled sharply and reached for her phone, finally climbing out of the trance. She picked up the little rucksack to make sure nothing clashed, and somehow, the outfit was so neutral that it actually seemed to go. Bayonetta pushed sunscreen into the as-yet-untightened opening, and a water bottle, and tucked Jeanne's lipstick into the outside pocket for good measure. Then, as if forgetting something, she set Jeanne's red sunglasses over her forehead, gently slipping the frame behind her ears.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanne and Bayonetta try to have a nice dinner out, but communication isn't always easy.

When Jeanne finally got back to the hotel it was late afternoon, but the sun showed no signs of slipping down between the silhouettes of all-inclusive hotels, and Bayonetta was fussing over her open suitcase, surrounded by what on first glance appeared to be animal figurines. But these weren't animals. Their parts brought different animals to mind--wings and horns and snouts and some had big fishlike bodies, but they were painted in hunter green, navy blue, yellow, candy-apple red, in polka dot patterns interspersed with intricate designs. Jeanne stopped to glance over them adoringly. Suddenly it seemed like the hotel room had been too white and beige without them.

"I don't know how to pack them!" Bayonetta exclaimed. "They're so delicate, Jeanne, and if parts break off--look at his quills! They wrapped them in paper for me but I thought bubble wrap would be better but they didn't have it at the store, did they?!"

Jeanne sat down on the floor next to her and held the wooden figures gently. "What, where the retiree was bitching about the beer being a dollar?"

"Yes."

"No...I didn't see any," Jeanne pushed the two figurines' faces together and made kissing noises.

"Jeanne. They are _not_ toys."

Jeanne responded by making the noises louder, and Bayonetta scooted over and, to Jeanne's surprise, rested her cheek on Jeanne's shoulder.

Jeanne stopped playing and lowered the beasts, flushing a little. "I'm...I'm sweaty, you don't want to do that."

"I can smell it," Bayonetta grinned at her. She didn't move. "Also a top note of bird shit. Don't you have photos to show me?"

"I..." Jeanne hadn't expected this at all. "You don't want to go find a supermarket? They'll have bubble wrap."

Bayonetta was already tugging the camera out of her bag and gave her an odd look. "We can go after. Were there flamingos?"

"Of course there were flamingos! They're in the brochure! If you unpacked these anyway--" Jeanne picked up the alebrijes and placed them on the bed table, around the TV, and a couple by their toiletries in the bathroom. They were wonderful choices; they'd make Bayonetta's apartment look stellar. But upon handling them, considering their various protrusions and appendages, it became clear to Jeanne that her friend was right; they might need help making it home intact.

"You took a selfie with the stork," Bayonetta wandered into the bathroom, looking at the camera's screen.

"Excuse me," Jeanne said, pulling off her soaked top, " _I_ need a shower." It was an ibis, not that it mattered.

"I should have come with you," Bayonetta murmured, looking up, and the regret in her eyes. Jeanne dropped her shirt and looked away. "I could have petted the flamingo."

"We weren't allowed to touch them."

"You're holding its head."

"I'm pretending to do that, for Instagram, Cereza. Go ask the front desk where Wal-Mart is, I need a minute." But it was actually adorable how attached to her Bayonetta had become over the past few days, and Jeanne slipped under the cold water thinking about it, against her better judgement.

 

_B_

 

When they got back from Wal-Mart--not without heavy plastic bags, due to a new plan to picnic on the beach their last day like _real_ fake locals--It was dark, and they put on their jewelry and maxi dresses and took out their clutches for dinner. It was going to be a raucous event; they wound up at a restaurant so fancy and so intimately connected with lobsters that it was the second word in its name. It had a fountain and live lobsters in tanks and murals related to the beach and fishing all over the walls, lit with cool spotlights that brought them to life. It was also stuffed to the gills with tourists.

As the waitress led them through packed tables of bickering American English-speaking families and couples whose ages ranged wildly, but mostly ended up over 55, Bayonetta whispered out of the corner of her mouth, "he's here."

Jeanne took a moment and then it hit her. "Not him. Not--one-dollar-beer grandpa--I thought he was broke."

"Don't look now. He's at the bar."

"You're _full of it_ , dear."

"Am not. He's drinking Malbec."

Jeanne searched through the crowd, pretending to cough and cover her face, and--there. At the fancy bar, backed with colorful bottles and boasting shiny taps, was seated the very unmistakeable old man who had made the scene at the convenience store.

"He _is_ drinking a Malbec," Jeanne said in surprised disgust. She dipped closer to Bayonetta's back and hissed, "he didn't even _need_ the money, Rezzy! He was yelling at them--for _nothing_!"

The waitress set their menus down at a nice little booth and smiled as they settled in. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

Something overwhelmed Jeanne. Their place for rest was a place for others' endless work. You could hear, despite the live jazz piano near the bar, the displeased and loudly complaining voices of retired morons at the same volume as the clanking of glassware and calls of orders and bells from the kitchen. Tourism was a helpful industry and an annoying one at the same time, and she couldn't begin to imagine quite how annoying it was for everyone working tonight.

"Jeanne likes really stupid cocktails. Do you have any of those?" came Bayonetta's voice.

"Like the Moscow Mule?"

"Yes. She'll have that. You're drinking a horse, Jeanne. It'll be great."

"Cereza likes ice water," Jeanne rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. "You had too much last night. If you're going to have _anything_ , it's going to be white or red, and have a cork, and be 13%, max. I'm being generous."

"Silly, this is a seafood establishment. Who would drink red wine?" Bayonetta smiled at the waitress. "It'll be white."

"We have a very fine Verdejo," recited the server."And I've heard good things about the Pinot Grigio."

Someone shouted something, something clearly offensive, down near the outdoor seating, punctuated by the group's laughter, and the server didn't even blink while writing their order down. Jeanne excused herself to go wash her hands, slipping a rolled hundred into the waitress's apron as she pressed by.

 

_B_

 

Their water glasses had shown up by the time she returned, and Bayonetta was smiling at her. "Didn't you forget to remind me to wash mine?"

Jeanne looked up at her quizzically as she settled in again. "Remind you?"

"Or were you--how was it-- _not going to say anything_?"

Their drinks were set before them, hers in a copper mug, Bayonetta's in a vase for white wine filled to _Wine Explorer'_ s recommended level. Cereza's fingers caught the neck of the glass and played with it. She watched Jeanne and cast a glance at the perforated golden surface of the wine, the lace of light running through it.

"You'd really let me eat germs."

Jeanne shook her head, laughing softly, as she looked back down at the menu.

"You," Bayonetta finally took a sip, "would _let me get e.coli_."

Jeanne found the lobster entree she'd secretly been eyeing when she was reading reviews of the place and ran a finger under its name. She murmured, "Maybe you're into that, dear."

" _Dirty hands_?!" Bayonetta sounded scandalized. A rare event. "That's _unacceptable_!"

"Well you aren't..." Jeanne looked up at her, "...beating a path to the sink, so...perhaps you _like_ e.coli."

" _I think not_? Aren't we shirking our responsibility?"

"Bayonetta..." Jeanne put her hand on the table and snaked a finger around the copper mug's handle. "I don't know how else to say this. Telling people what to do isn't fun. I suppose you saw...that side of me when Balder-- _and anyway I boss thirty teenage brats around for months at a time_. You're an adult. An individual. You have a considerable awareness about the practice of washing hands. If you don't do it, it's because you made a choice--"

" _Bullshit_ ," Bayonetta interrupted her, smiling into her wine, "You _always_ used to be pushy. Even when you were a little girl."

"I was _silly_ ," Jeanne snapped, "Do you think I want to be like _that_ bastard!" She jabbed a finger in the general area of the bar. "It's really not that serious."

Something about that answer made Bayonetta smile even wider. "Or maybe you were the only one with dirty hands?"

Jeanne rolled her eyes and went back to reading descriptions of lobster. Bayonetta leaned forward and muttered behind her hand, "What happened to ' _I don't make enough to cover it_?"

"Excuse me?"

"You _do_ know tips are supposed to come _after_ a meal?"

A blush surged up Jeanne's neck and into her cheeks. She glanced around, hoping nobody had heard, even with the restaurant being far louder and more distruptive, and looked pleadingly at Cereza. "Rezzy. _Please_ don't make a scene about--"

" _There_ we go. You _really_ thought you were being _subtle_ about it?"

Jeanne could _feel_ her heart rate increase. She glanced down their row of tables to see if the four top next to them had heard, but they were loudly regaling each other with their jet skiing and snorkeling adventures while being sunburned as fuck. "Cereza. It's not a big deal."

"Ohh...so _compassionate_...so _empathetic_..." Bayonetta enunciated the syllables with laughter behind her words, as if mocking the fact that Jeanne had been so _cold_ and was now doing this to _show off_ \--Jeanne _hated_ it. You didn't need to be a good person to have good intentions or do good things for others without expecting anything; Jeanne knew she wasn't. She'd never be. She still wanted to be kind to ordinary people, though. "Were you a waitress? Am I seeing who you were before you could swing teaching full time? Go on, spill it."

Jeanne wanted to duck under the table. How did Bayonetta know how to eviscerate you with her words? This was karma for all she'd said while under Balder's control, she was sure of it. "Please, stop. You haven't even picked out a main course and she's going to come back to ask. Please, Cereza."

Bayonetta said, "I'm having the beer battered dorado tacos. Actually, I thought we could get a separate shrimp taco order and share?"

"What, there are three in an order?" Jeanne flipped a page back. "What about this grilled garlic dorado filet?"

She looked up hopefully, and was aghast at Cereza still looking at her like that. Mocking her with her eyes.

"Something...on my face?" Jeanne said, frowning, and it was like that woke Bayonetta up.

"What, you think I'd like that?"

"It sounds amazing."

"How are we going to share it, though? Ah, it does...and it comes with a side salad. What does yours come with?" Cereza sat up to look where Jeanne was looking. "Oh. Silly, you're getting lobster? You should have said so, that's way too much food if I order to share! And aren't _they_ hermit crabs in a way?"

"No!"

"All right, all right! I wasn't allowed to go to the academy until you grifted me a pact with Madama Butterfly, remember? Were crabs even _around_ and mentioned in common vernacular back then?"

Jeanne said under her breath, " _Crabs are among the first multicellular life forms on this planet_."

" _Someone_ misses Charles," Bayonetta hissed back, earning her a glare. She flipped back a page of the menu. "Hasn't even allowed me to bring him back a new house."

"Sorry for the wait!" said their server, smiling, even though it had been hardly three minutes. "Let me know if you're ready to order. Are you ladies doing anything fun tonight?"

Jeanne said, "Tonight? After this lobster puts me into a coma?"

The woman laughed. "We have to-go plates for that. You can always finish it while hungover."

"Jeanne likes crowded places with terrible music," Bayonetta said haughtily. "And no one wearing anything _resembling_ a collared shirt."

"Tropical bass, deep house?" the woman said, almost knowingly meeting Jeanne's eyes. "How do you feel about people just wearing glowsticks? Rave clothes?"

Jeanne swallowed. Bayonetta slammed the table. "That's it. That's what you love, isn't it, Jeanne? She didn't drink last night. She has to go out tonight. right, Jeanne? Yes, finish your mule like a good girl."

The server had been scribbling something down on a piece of paper and slid it over to Jeanne. She smiled after writing down their choices and assured them they'd be only a few minutes, even though Jeanne and Cereza both expected to wait for high-quality food at a busy time. Bayonetta leaned over to try to read what the note said, but Jeanne kept pulling it out of her reach.

"You will forgive me, Cereza. I might be back late," Jeanne said slowly, absently, not looking up from it.

" _You're not taking me with you_?!"

Jeanne smiled, finally, and stowed the note out of sight. "Decidedly _not_ your kind of place."

And no amount of complaining, reasoning, or across-shrimp-taco-plate glares from Bayonetta could sway that decision.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place months after Jeanne and Bayonetta came home from their vacay. Warning for mentions of biphobic comments and purity culture in wlw spaces. Enjoy <3

White light came through the wind-kissed curtains and fell across the mattress. It danced in shapes in the corner of one wall. And it was creeping along the table holding Jeanne's phone, wallet, and keys. That had been as far as Jeanne got last night; faceplanting on the memory foam in the clothes she'd worn yesterday after emptying her pockets on the table.

And it was _perfect_.

Because yesterday had been the last day of school.

Her phone was vibrating on the low white circle table at the edge of Jeanne's consciousness. She wasn't going to pick it up.

Her brats were out of her hair for _the entire summer_. 

It made her smile lovingly into the mattress every time she thought about it. She wasn't even teaching any remedial summer courses for the first time in years. Nothing but alcohol and sex soaked independence from now until--

The phone fell off the table, bouncing in its case on the floor. Now it was vibrating on the carpet.

With a Herculean effort, Jeanne raised her face two inches off the bed and glared at the fallen screen.

Bayonetta. _Bayonetta_ was calling her.

Jeanne dragged up her hand to support her face.  Then she unbuttoned her blouse and threw it over the phone. She slipped out of the sensible khakis that even the other teachers called "too safe" and buried the phone under those, too. And then her lingerie, for good measure.

And then she lay back and hugged the high thread count sheets to her bare chest and smiled as she closed her eyes.

Even the best friend she had a terrible crush on couldn't ruin the day after the last day of school.

 

_B_

 

Jeanne slipped back under for what felt like moments before a dull, headache-like buzzing pierced her unconsciousness again.

_Damn it!_

Jeanne pulled down the sheets and tugged the phone out of her laundry just as it stopped ringing. What luck. She regarded 15 missed calls and 1 voicemail with a bit of guilt and alarm and tapped Cereza's name, putting it against her ear as she smoothed the edge of the sheet with a finger.

"Cereza? What's the matter?" Her voice came out like small-grain sandpaper.

Cereza's was like silk. "Good morning, dear. Did you see that I left you a voicemail?"

"Yes?"

"Well, do you know what you're supposed to do with voicemails?"

 _Delete them!_ Her brain screamed. _It's the day after the last day of school!_  

"Listen to them? Fine, I'll call you back," Jeanne said. She hung up and noticed the relief washing over her, leaving shudders in its wake.

And mixing with confusion.

It would have been easier to yell at Bayonetta for disturbing her beauty sleep at the crack of noon. Or make a wiseassed comment. Or just go back to sleep.

Which really meant it would have been easier not to fall for Bayonetta.

The voicemail played out:"Jeanne, what in the hell, it's been three weeks, come over here before I forget what you look like."

Jeanne carefully saved it and then rolled back across the mattress as she called Bayonetta back. "All right, you might want to write this down," she murmured, feeling the memory foam against the back of her neck. "Short white hair. Red glasses with a weird black feather on them."

She heard Bayonetta inhale in annoyance.

"A closet full of red or white clothing. Jackets. Pale skin. Possibly multiple layers of mascara. Lipstick. I think that’s everything."

" _I'm going to physically murder you_ ," came a mutter from the receiver.

"You're the one who's playing games this time. Why do you want me over so urgently?"

"I'm not allowed to miss you?"

Jeanne chuckled. "We spent an entire week together at the beach."

"That was months ago! And you haven't called or texted for weeks! I know school does that to you--but you're acting like I wouldn't even _mind_ losing you!"

Jeanne had no idea what to say to that. She wasn't going anywhere. In fact the only reason she didn't text Bayonetta daily had been a nagging fear of the witch telling her to back off, telling her she was too clingy. Bayonetta rather coveted independence--if it hadn't of course just been Jeanne reading that wrong. 

And speaking of independence, Jeanne had already envisioned a day in bed masturbating and ordering pho off Seamless. A new toy had just arrived in the mail for her--she glanced over at it now, still in the pretty box after she'd opened the package a week ago--and a new one always required unhurried experimentation, so a day naked in these sheets with her new bed buddy was becoming more attractive with each moment. There was some really excellent lesbian porn waiting for her on her hard drive and when that got too repetitive she would just buy some more because she didn’t have to grade papers or attend meetings and--

"Just get over here." Bayonetta's voice was somewhat flat.

Jeanne reached over and plucked the toy from the packaging. "Is everything all right? This is...odd."

"Just _what_ is odd?!"

"Well...Cereza..."

Bayonetta had had her over before, of course--but it was usually at night. So they could do their makeup and pregame before a night of general debauchery. She had never expressly asked Jeanne to go there in the middle of the day, unless it was to set up a Playstation (what, had Luka not picked up the phone? Was Jeanne's name alphabetically stored before his in Bayonetta's phone, and she just hadn't bothered to scroll down?). If they were doing a girl's movie night or sleepover tarot card thing Cereza usually came over to Jeanne's (and had a _ball,_ laughing till morning and scarfing down all the lemon bars Jeanne usually made). Any time at Bayonetta's was just a pit stop before hitting the races.

And Jeanne enjoyed the briefness for a reason. Being at your crush's place, surrounded by their stuff--and knowing it wasn't for that reason sent her into cognitive dissonance. Not that it wasn't exhilarating at the same time.

"Why can't you come here?"

"Just trust me."

Jeanne dropped the box on her sheets. "Tomorrow works better for me, Bayonetta. I'm sorry." She reached for scissors to pick apart the wrapping. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"You're not the best liar."

She heard Bayonetta swallow. It was honestly a turn on.

"Come on. Did he break up with you?"

"You didn't believe me. I _told_ you," Bayonetta muttered.

The toy finally tumbled out of its plastic. Jeanne palmed it and felt the silicone on her skin. She couldn't turn it on yet, not on the phone.

"Jeanne? _Please_."

Jeanne pulled her sheets up over her legs. She hugged the toy to her chest like a stuffed animal. "Just tell me over the phone."

Bayonetta was silent. She hadn't hung up. Jeanne was just listening to her being quiet.

She sat up, nervousness prickling over her skin. "Oh. I'm coming over, sweetie. Hold on for me, all right?"

Maybe the real Bayonetta had been kidnapped by aliens. Because the witch on this phone call gave _far_ too much of a fuck. With reasonable exceptions, there was only one thing that scared Bayonetta, and you could kill it with Raid.

"I mean we _could_ do tomorrow," Bayonetta murmured. "You'll be hungover and need to borrow money anyway."

Jeanne snorted. "Why...would that be the case?"

"Oh? That's _not_ your plan for the evening? Getting your credit card numbers stolen at the lesbian club again? Spending the next six months complaining about the customer service at Chase?"

Jeanne said, hoarsely, " _I'm_ _going to slit your throat_."

 "You mean to tell me that wasn't your plan?"

"It happened _one time_ \--"

"Is that the name of the club?"

"--I don't go to that part of Bed-Stuy anymore--and I only use One Vanilla cards at bars now and you _know_ it--and I only needed that money to pay fucking T-Mobile—so I could call the stupid bank—because it was at the end of the month--"

"Why don't you just bring cash?"

She could have just said _club_. But no, bringing Jeanne's sexuality into it made it _fun_ for her. Stupid beautiful straight bitch who thought having a best friend who liked the same gender allowed you to play like that.

And Jeanne didn't bring cash to bars because paying with a card, no matter how much of a hassle or risk it could be, made her feel _cool_. She still remembered when credit cards first hit the market, for God's sake. She remembered holding the shiny plastic rectangle in her hand for the first time. She remembered her first purchase.

And she was _still_ making payments on that motorcycle.

Bayonetta said, into the silence, "How are you going to slit my throat long-distance, dear?"

"Twenty minutes!" Jeanne screamed into the phone before lobbing it back into the dirty laundry and punching the memory foam.

 

_B_

 

The traffic was beautiful today, and the sun made the water fiery and silver as Jeanne revved it across the bridge. She was actually beginning to forget what she was so annoyed about when she felt her jacket pocket vibrating.

 _Jesus_. If her friend couldn't keep her mouth shut for twenty damned _minutes_. No _way_ was Jeanne the type to drive and use a phone, no matter _who_ was calling. No matter how worried it made her.

Soon Jeanne pulled into the parking area of the complex's courtyard. Bayonetta was leaning out on a balcony looking down at her as she pulled into the angled spot where Luka’s Jetta usually sat. Jeanne glanced up at her, adjusting her sunglasses. "What's the matter?" She called up, the worry filling her tummy all over again.

Jeanne was ready to make a running leap and sweep Bayonetta away. One of her worst fears was Bayonetta being held hostage somewhere...this was starting to feel like that, to be honest.

But Cereza just shook her head and disappeared inside.

Jeanne sighed before walking into the fancy white-walled corridor to the elevator.

The landing was full of open windows too high to see out of but that let the breeze right in, and natural light everywhere as if the architect knew only those three words. Bayonetta’s door was of dark wood, and there was a black cat sticker on it from Halloween.

It was also a little open, and Jeanne hesitated for a moment on whether she should knock or just come in.

Then a pair of the most wonderful eyes in the world appeared in the gap.

"Cereza?"

The witch pushed the door open wider and--well--she wrapped her arms around Jeanne's neck. She pulled in and rested her head over Jeanne's shoulder.

"Cereza..." Jeanne's voice was muffled this time. 

"I missed you."

And then Bayonetta did something rude.

She held the door open while standing in the doorway. Of all the ways to hold a door open, actually making it harder for someone to comfortably walk through one by making the opening smaller with your own body was the most odd.

Which was why, Jeanne had learned over the years, if people did it, they did it for a reason. Recruiters did it at interviews, to smell you, make sure you were _clean_ enough to work there, one of many superficial micro-transactions that went on in a job interview that had nothing to do with you possibly being a good employee.

And speaking of clean, Bayonetta had really done a number on the place. Jeanne noted the absence of a laundry hamper by the door, and in fact several old Cheetos and things that had looked like dust-covered boogers were missing from their usual places beneath the coffee table, which boasted a single romance novel and a colorful alebrije instead of the typical crowded mess of shot glasses, salt, and empty bottles of Patron.

"Very nice," Jeanne looked over her shoulder. "Did Luka lose a bet?"

Bayonetta just looked at her, blinking. "What?"

Jeanne rolled her eyes and flopped down on the carpet to look under the sectional. Surely the Cheetos had merely migrated, due to wind from the airy vestibule?

It was clear. Every shadowed inch of carpet was free of dust. With a thud, Bayonetta's face appeared in the gap on the other side, meeting her eyes.

"What...are you looking for?"

Jeanne raised herself into a kneel very slowly, squinting at Bayonetta over the couch in turn.

"Jeanne! Explain yourself!"

"Those Cheetos have been there for at least nine months. What did you do with them?"

"Fine," Bayonetta said with a smirk. "I'm a pig. At least it doesn't ruin my credit."

And she turned, beckoning Jeanne to stop fooling around and join her at the dining table. There was something thin and vulnerable about the gesture.

Jeanne didn't like that. She didn't like it at all. And she _especially_ didn't like how Cereza was putting herself down. The habit hadn't been present in her friend since she lost her pimples and beat Jeanne during the proving ceremonies in front of all the witches who used to call her ''of impure blood'.

Bayonetta wasn't a pig. She was just messy. And...Jeanne had lived with some batshit neat freaks, so it was a hard plus on the arousal meter. She liked Bayonetta's bedroom, with Gucci and Armani dresses strewn all over the floor, PlayStation controllers balanced on shoeboxes balanced on Scarborough Fair balanced on still-sandy beach towels...Jeanne would happily be fucked on top of Bayonetta's floordrobe and if anyone who had seen Bayonetta or heard her voice wouldn't say the same they were probably lying.  Or asexual.

"Stop that," Jeanne muttered as she reached out and patted Bayonetta's back. 

Passing through the kitchenette to the dining area, they brushed past the seven-level wire shelf and Jeanne glanced over, a familiar glow lighting her up. The frosted glass stood out between Johnny Walker Red Label and Gosling's Black Seal rum.

Jeanne popped the freezer with her finger and picked a chilled glass she knew would be there, smiled at how her fingers left condensation, at the frozen steam escaping into the air before she shut the door.

She had forgotten the _best_ thing about Bayonetta's residence. _Full open bar, any time of day or night._

Jeanne selected Absolut Pears with one graceful movement from the crowd of bottles and opened it, moving to position over the glass on the counter.

And then she felt a hand on her shoulder. Bayonetta gently took the bottle away and Jeanne felt a push. She looked over to the dining table, where Bayonetta had what looked like playing cards and empty glasses already set up.

Poker night. Something not infrequent at Jeanne's. But during the day?

"Bayonetta," Jeanne murmured sadly as the witch returned the Absolut to between the rums. "What's the matter?"

Bayonetta pushed back her hair as she looked back at Jeanne. And then she glanced at the line of the counter opposite. "You just woke up, dear. I thought we could wait on crawling into the Absolut."

"But...that's no big deal. You know it isn't--Bayonetta," Jeanne tried to reach over her to grab it again, and her tone became less soft and friendly and more stressed the more Bayonetta blocked her. "Bayonetta I have spent _months_ in a _room_ with _teens_ \--"

Bayonetta smiled as she pushed Jeanne's hand away, but the smile still had that sad, almost empty space behind it. And that was what was really doing Jeanne in. Clearly Jeanne needed to have been present, somehow, to prevent it from becoming like this. And she hadn't been.

Then it hit her. Jeanne stared at Bayonetta as they stopped the invisible volleyball match.

_She's pregnant._

Bayonetta patted her shoulder. "About that. I thought we could catch up. You know, since it's been forever."

_She's going to tell me she's pregnant. Fuck._

Finally coaxed past the alcohol, Jeanne settled into her seat across from Bayonetta, who handed her the cards. She just stared at the deck for several moments.

 _She's going to look so beautiful with that bump. Their child will be so beautiful, Old Navy has those patterned onesies,_ flitted across her mind like a naked dude streaking across a golf course, and equally as sad. Jeanne forced out the thought and replaced it with _It's not even the school year and children are somehow still trying to ruin my life!_

Bayonetta and Luka were beautiful individuals who would produce--even Jeanne had to admit--a beautiful baby, with Bayonetta's eyes and Luka's hair and skin tone and (hopefully) passion for journalistic integrity. And now Bayonetta was staring at her expectantly, and Jeanne remembered the cards in her hands and blushed.

"Is there a reason you can't shuffle them yourself?"

"You have better hands than me, don't you?"

The quip took several seconds for Jeanne to process. " _I'm going to have you killed_."

Bayonetta snorted, nothing like her usual wide-open laughs, and took a mineral water from somewhere and poured it into two tall glasses set on the table.

"I'm not drinking that."

"Be my guest," the witch said, leaning her chin on her palm. Jeanne slammed the deck's short edge on the table and snapped the edges together one last time and then dealt, just about throwing Bayonetta's cards at her. She slammed the deck in between them again for emphasis, rattling the glasses.

"I mean it," Bayonetta said after picking up her cards. "How was yesterday?"

"Who are you, my amateur unpaid therapist? It was a damned nightmare," Jeanne sent a look back at the Absolut Pears. "Why aren't we drinking properly, again?"

She felt fingers on her cheek this time. Bayonetta turned her gently back so they were facing each other, shaking her head.

Jeanne snapped down a bet. "Are you sick? Did you go to the doctor?"

"I'll get to that, all right? Tell me about yesterday."

"I don't want to! It's _over_! Claude set off the sprinklers because he was smoking in the boy's bathroom. Bella bullied Somaya and then ran in crying because Somaya slapped her during recess. What did she _think_ was going to happen? She told Somaya Black Lives Matter is stupid because that's what Somaya's reading was about. The other students started yelling at her and I tried to speak to her and she told me I knew she was right, and then fifteen _minutes_ later she's back in my room crying asking if I could walk her to the nurse because even her other white friends hate her now and didn't want to go with her. Liam punched Devin. Devin punched Liam's little brother because he didn't have the balls to punch Liam back. Marco climbed on top of the science building to take a selfie at lunch. That was a minute before Claude sent off the fire alarm so head count was off and then some genius spotted him up there, and instead of telling him he was stupid and it was dangerous and terrifying to see they all _laughed_ and now he's the most popular bastard in school. Yearbooks. Prom. Crowded hallways. Tay asked me to write him a letter of recommendation from some summer program, except he wouldn't leave me alone until I did. He'd better _really_ enjoy the damned robot lab at MIT because I needed to pee."

Now Bayonetta was laughing, really laughing. It had started somewhere around the world 'selfie', and Jeanne hadn't even thought she was listening. Her eyes had been on the cards. Bayonetta was wiping away a tear.

"How my pain entertains you," Jeanne said, shaking her head as she picked a card from the community cards.

"On top of the science building!"

"It's not that funny," Jeanne muttered. "My heart about stopped."

"Why was Claude smoking in the bathroom?!"

"Because he's a stoned idiot! His dad owns the Lexus dealership down the road from us. He's going to inherit it anyway, he doesn't give a fuck," Jeanne said. "What about you?"

"What _about_ me? I don't have an exciting life, Jeanne."

Jeanne glared at her over the cards. "Excuse me?"

"Come on. Enzo and Rodin and some bloody angels, day in and day out. Yes, there's the mob, but they're _considerably_ more boring than your kids, I have to say."

She was leaving something important out. Jeanne didn't have the heart to ask after Luka. Relationships were complicated and they were very likely fighting. Which would make the pregnancy even more of a mess.

"Then...why do people watch _the Godfather_...and _the Sopranos_...actually, quit changing the subject! Didn't you rush me over here because you had something to tell me?!"

Bayonetta did not take that very well. Jeanne saw a flash of white teeth between those lips. 

Bayonetta said, "Are you in a hurry? The bars aren't open yet, dear."

That was it. Jeanne was done.

"If you say 'bar' or 'club' one more damned time I'm out of here," Jeanne said in the deadly, level monotone she reserved for the few students who had truly disappointed her. "You don't know what my plans are for today, Bayonetta, and you're not going to. Just because we're close doesn't mean you get to be flippant about a part of my life that doesn't involve you or matter to our friendship at all. It's not a joke to _me_ , even if it leaves _you_ in hysterics."

Bayonetta's cards fell from the table and landed, somehow remaining perfectly hidden, in a pile beneath the table. Cereza huffed and dove for them. Jeanne leaned back in her chair, trying to at least see a corner, a color, a suit, but Bayonetta brought them back up so carefully and--

Her hands were shaking.

Jeanne watched Bayonetta set her cards back on the table and push a stray strand behind her ear. Bayonetta's hands were guns that shot bullets. They didn't shake. And worse, worse, as she watched Bayonetta try to line her cards back up into a hand, she tucked her thumbnail into her mouth and--

"Why are you doing that? Don't do that," Jeanne said.

She pulled at Bayonetta's fingers, feeling a tremble. She caught a closer look, just before Bayonetta snatched her hand back. All five, chewed. No, not Bayonetta. Not--Jeanne knew exactly how fine Bayonetta's fingernails looked, how she maintained them--not _Bayonetta_. Truthfully, it made her sick to see _any_ of her students doing it, especially during midterms and finals, especially before dances, especially when they were regularly bullied, or new--but Bayonetta wasn't supposed to work like that, anxiety wasn't supposed to be a word in her vocabulary. Not when you feared no one in the criminal underworld. Not when you had punched Jubileus into the sun.

"What have you been so worried about?!" Jeanne snapped. She stood up and paced around the table, putting her arms around Cereza's shoulders.

Jeanne hated to see her struggle like this, chewing her lip. Like she was thinking of an elaborate way to say it that maintained her dignity. As if ' _the condom broke will you take me to the clinic_ " or ' _Luka and I fucked raw, the kid's gonna be a Scorpio_ ' or ' _let me use your One Vanilla card for plan b one step, I spent all my money on the custodian who cleaned this joint up_ ' weren't just as good for getting your point across. Although it was probably too late for the last one.

"It does matter," came a small voice as Bayonetta broke from looking at her own nails.

"What?"

"I. Are you. Are you going to be mad at me. I'm."

" _Mad_?! I'm about to kill whoever caused this, but mad at _you_?"

Bayonetta took a shaking breath. "I suppose. I'll get started--I was thinking."

Jeanne's phone, pocketed in her jacket on the back of the sofa, audibly buzzed.

Bayonetta looked toward the living room. She pushed her glasses up on her nose. "I was thinking I. That _I_ could be your fling. If you. If you wanted, of course."

" _They'll never find your body_."

"You--I'm not _joking_ , Jeanne! _Jesus_!" Bayonetta looked taken aback, glancing up. Jeanne didn't have a way to hide her blush at all.

"Yes you _are_!" Jeanne said. "Don't play _games_. Not _today_. If you need me to--if you and Luka need me to-to sign the birth certificate, or help with whatever the _hell_ you plan to do with the fetus, you could have told me twenty-five minutes ago and _I could be eating Vietnamese takeout while naked at my house right now_!"

Bayonetta's face was displaying an emotion Jeanne had never seen there before, and didn't immediately have a word for. Extreme bafflement? It looked like Jeanne's face had probably looked when Tay had asked for the letter of recommendation for the summer program. Everything Tay wore, smelled like, and talked about with friends said _skater: lights are on but no one's home_. She'd see him and his sister popping ollies and manuals on the loading dock behind the liquor store and smashing their asses. His good grades made her suspect he was cheating, not smart.

And she'd been pretty ashamed of that when he shoved the brochure at her with that hope in his eyes. _It's such a rad program, Ms D'Arc! I really hope I get in!_

"You think I'm pregnant?" A smile cracked Bayonetta's lips and she shook her head at Jeanne, who slowly let her go, and finally broke eye contact to look back at the bottles. 

"I just...I just don't...didn't want you to be...we need to talk about this while sober, Jeanne, I'm sorry."

"If you'd like," Jeanne moved to cup Cereza's face in her fingertips. "But you don't sound like yourself at all."

"That's...why, dear."

Jeanne stepped back. "Well, I'm listening."

 

_B_

 

Running her finger across bottles like they were spokes in an iron fence, Jeanne saw not the Absolut, but something else, something that reminded her of vomiting in Waffle House bathrooms during Spring Break '87. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. It was still there.

"Jeanne...this isn't sudden. I know how it seems, but it _isn_ 't..."

Jeanne held up the offending bottle by the neck, its logo clearly representative of a bat that had escaped hell, "Just what in the hell is _this_?"

"Put it _down_ , Jeanne. It's. I," Cereza took a very un-Cereza-like shaky breath. "I'm bisexual. That's what I--" her shoulders tensed and hitched up, to the point where she was almost hiding herself between them. She raised a hand to push back a waterfall of black. "I know it's...it's not..." her voice was becoming less like Bayonetta every moment, and more like the woman who had lost her resolve during the war, who Jeanne had sealed away. "It's not believable. But please trust me. It's not sudden, it's not fake. I want you, all right? Will you believe me?

"Please--please don't look at me like that, Jeanne...I'm sorry...I'm sorry I joked about it...I'm hearing what I said now, thinking about it, and...I can see how it hurt..."

Bayonetta took another breath and managed to push herself to her feet, force herself to stride over and lean against the counter, an arm's length away from where Jeanne was regarding the bottle with venom in her eyes. She gently pushed Jeanne to look up at her again. "I supposed I thought...you would throw me out if I came over to your place to tell you. And--and it's all right if you feel like that, and if you go, but..." she put a hand on Jeanne's forearm, "I just. I haven't had a lot of luck. Telling people about this. It's...not gone over well. It's...it's not that I thought you'd act like that, but...well...I was trying to find out how you'd respond, all right, Jeanne? I'm sorry..."

Jeanne separated Cereza's bangs and pushed the fringe behind her ear.

Bayonetta wrapped her fingers around Jeanne's elbow, "I. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of. Of--someone--someone said that, that being with men before--that you can't be _really_ interested if you've been with men before and liked it. Like, she said, gold star--"

Jeanne squeezed her eyes shut. She would bet money she didn't have that she knew who had told Bayonetta this. The witch took her expression as a bad sign.

"--it's all right if you feel like that, too, Jeanne, all right?" She sounded out of breath, but that was just how you sounded if you were talking a lot right before you would start crying. "Because I can understand it."

Jeanne knew what a gold star lesbian was. It was when you fell asleep on top of your open lesson planning supplies and went into work the next day and the kids pointed out that you had metallic stickers on your eyebrows and forearms and even one on the end of your nose. That was a 'gold star lesbian'.

"I'm really feeling like I'm going to die," Bayonetta muttered, hugging Jeanne's arm, laying her forehead onto it.

Yes, she was. You died a thousand deaths explaining to people who you were. You'd died the first time discovering it yourself, whether you were a scared kid or a terrified adult when you knew. You died watching them pity you when it was really a joy they couldn't understand but were socialized to fear, finally knowing the safe combination to yourself. And you died when it didn't make sense to them or seemed dirty, like a toy you find on the street and your parents don't let you take home.

Jeanne teased her fingers through the shiny black hair and Bayonetta's face raised a few degrees up from her arm. She was still holding on, as if she'd drown without it, which was probably what right now felt like, judging by her breathing. She was forgetting to do it, doing deep gasping ones too late, making herself dizzy, and the tears and the lump in her throat weren't helping.

"You have to say something...Jeanne... _please_..."

No. Jeanne didn't. Some things--some _people_ , she felt--drained the blood out of something, especially something deep, especially something real, by talking about it ad nauseum. She was grateful for people who were frank. It just wasn't for her. And there might be a lot of very imperfect reasons that it wasn't for her, but that was what having an individual identity you didn't need others to copy or admire in order to accept was about.

Jeanne moved her thumbs as if she was smoothing the outer edges of Cereza's ears. Slowly moving her fingertips lower to cradle her friend's cheekbones. Cereza couldn't seem to stop looking at her, but then closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

"When...am I going to calm down?"

Jeanne patted the countertop. "Sit up. C'mon."

"I don't feel like this when I'm fighting..." Cereza pulled her thighs up on the counter and swung her legs over on Jeanne's side. Jeanne rubbed her shoulders and listened to her try to get a handle on breathing again.

Cereza was rubbing her eyes under the eyeglasses. "What were you blathering on about my rum for, anyway?" she murmured hoarsely.

"You use this to dress wounds."

Cereza looked over at the bottle. She sniffed, gulped, and replied, "I drink it."

Jeanne made the mistake of opening and sniffing the devil's pisswater. Yes, it still smelled like dying and vomit and concerned Southern employees knocking on the stall door.

"You cook with it," Jeanne choked, shaking her head to attempt to erase the memory, " _Fruitcake_ \--"

"I drink it."

"I don't understand."

"It's a two step process."

Oh, that smile. It had finally come back.

"You pour it into a glass with Coke. And then you start dancing."

" _Vile_."

"Fine," Cereza said, with a serenity Jeanne would have given the world for her to have moments ago, "So, more for me."

 

_**B** _

 

The rum bounced off the edges of the bottom of the glass and licked the stack of ice, and the cola topped it like a cloud. Jeanne rubbed a lime wedge around the rim and buried it in the fizzing depths, and then, holding the glass gingerly away from her body, handed it to Bayonetta.

The latter brushed her cheek with the back of her fingers in thanks as she took a sip, and Jeanne felt lightheaded and too hot.

Their poker game continued. Some suspiciously bloody rubber-banded bankrolls and Jeanne's last One Vanilla card were piled in the middle of the table a few hands later.

Bayonetta murmured, "Are you hungry, dear?"

"No." On cue, Jeanne's stomach growled.

"My, we can't be having that. You _know_ there's some White Castle cheeseburgers in the freezer with your _name_ on them."

"They serve that at my school. I fancy grown-up food, thank you very much."

Just then, two more short buzzes came from Jeanne's phone.

"Aren't you going to get that?"

"It can wait," Jeanne smiled at her before going back to her cards.

"Am I the only person you're going to talk to, today?"

"Yes," Jeanne said, picking a card from the community stash again. 

"Well. Then, why don't we call in your order to Pho & I?" Cereza said. "I won't have you starving in here."

Jeanne looked up from the cards finally and sighed, making to stand up when Bayonetta set her phone in front of her.

It was still locked. Jeanne raised an eyebrow at Cereza and unlocked it; she didn't have a passcode. Several messages greeted her. Was she going to Ashley's party? What was she doing tonight? Jeanne swiped them aside for the time being and then noticed Cereza looking very pointedly in the other direction.

"You're...you _can_ 't be jealous."

Her friend looked back at her and showed gritted teeth.

"Cereza...you _really_ don't want to have me. It's...not up to your standards. Believe me."

"Is that why your phone's blowing up, dear?"

Jeanne groaned and went back to looking up Seamless in the app store. "Some people don't have taste. It's in my favor."

"Excuse me? I know you thought I was knocked up, but this isn't some strange craving, Jeanne."

Jeanne looked up very slowly from her phone. Bayonetta was dead serious.

"You don't...even know what a fling is."

And that was not the right thing to say. Bayonetta stood up in a huff, stamped over to some jewelry box she kept on the bookshelf and threw something at Jeanne, whose witchy reflexes snapped it out of the air a second before it would have impaled her. She could feel what it was, but she still opened her closed fist to look.

Smaller than a finger. Pointy. Pink and beige, with pretty dark red patterns. So Cereza _hadn't_ been able to resist taking the seashell home after all.

"Pretty...safe...but interchangeable when needed," Bayonetta said, pacing back to the table, arms folded. "When one outgrows it. Or just fancies a change of scenery. Right?"

Jeanne bit her knuckle. When she turned the shell, sand sprinkled out onto her lap. She dropped her hand to rub it into the fabric.

"It seems fine to me," Cereza said. And oh. That smile again.

"It really isn't."

"Why?" Cereza leaned down, put her hand too close to where Jeanne's cards were lying facedown on the table. "Tell me."

"'Friends with benefits' isn't my style, Cereza. Friendship _already_ has benefits."

Cereza rolled her eyes so hard she leaned her head back.

"You think it'd ruin our _friendship_."

Jeanne raised an eyebrow over her phone but didn't look up from Pho & I's menu.

"When us trying to _kill_ each other--you sealing me in a _coffin_ under a _lake_ \--hundreds of _years_ being apart. You know. All that apparently _didn_ 't. But _no_. Intimacy. _That_ 's going to ruin our friendship."

Jeanne inhaled sharply through her nose. "You don't get it."

"Then explain it better." 

You didn't say that to a teacher. Not because it wasn't often correct, but because it was, and it made Jeanne sick when she realized it. So she grimaced up at Bayonetta now.

"Maybe I _like_ it when you come over just to have fun and chat, and maybe the pressure is going to ruin that, and maybe that, if you haven't realized, is why friends stay friends _longer than most people stay together_ \--"

"You," Cereza muttered, "are completely _delusional_!"

" _See_? It's already happening--arguments you _only_ get into when--"

"You were _afraid_ to be too close of a friend," Cereza hissed, stepping around her, her arms still folded. "That was holding us back, not keeping the friendship ideal, Jeanne! You were afraid to get physically close in case it made me uncomfortable, remember? Do you have _any_ _idea_  just how _good_ being close to you _feels_ , when I trust you _this_ much, when I know how _protective_ you are? You were worried about that while we were swimming. Wouldn't it feel _good_ to stop worrying about that?

"You and I are good for each other...and I just want to know if you feel anything similar...after you get over these worries...you don't have to have an answer for me right away, but..."

She was interrupted by the continual buzzing of Jeanne's phone. The name on the caller ID said "Stole my teapot". Cereza failed at suppressing a giggle and Jeanne reached to slap her--and missed--while picking it up.

"Open your texts, bitch!" came Tammy's voice over the receiver. "Are you going to Ashley's party, or not?"

"I have plans tonight, sweetie."

She heard Cereza suddenly inhale behind her.

Tammy said, "Well if you'd read it, you'd know it was _tomorrow_. You'd better come."

Jeanne disliked Ashley, but got along swimmingly with the pool at her condo and a lot of her friends. "All right."

"And you'd better not wear the Old Navy pajamas like last time, Jeanne."

Cereza clambered into a seated position on her lap and would have grabbed Jeanne's cards if the teacher hadn't slammed her other hand on top of them.

"I-- _Rezzy_ \--look Tams, I rather have my hands full right now. Old Navy makes the best pajamas. I don't know what to tell you."

"Put on skinny jeans. You're my plus one--wear your red jacket and skinnies."

All that heavy clothing when it'd come off after her third beer anyway? Was it a pool party or the Oscars?

"Whatever. Who else is coming?" Jeanne was trying to pick menu items while talking on the phone while Cereza kept trying to turn up a corner of the facedown hand. "Is Liana coming?"

And by the way tension rolled through Bayonetta's body, and how she quickly tried to hide her face behind her drink, Jeanne's suspicions were confirmed.

"Probably?" Tammy said. "She and Ash are tight? You don't have to talk to her. If you let that stop you from coming--"

"It won't, don't worry."

Cereza looked up at her in thinly veiled alarm as Jeanne smirked.

"Whatever. I'll be over to dress you on Sunday," Tammy said. They said their goodbyes and hung up.

"Sorry, Cereza," Jeanne took a deep breath, raising her arms behind her head. "What are you having? I already ordered the spring rolls you liked last time."

"What," Cereza said with a deep breath, "was _that_ all about?"

They exchanged a look.

Jeanne said, consolingly, "People seem to think arriving to a posh party on the back of a motorcycle is the red carpet treatment. It's all for show. I don't mind being arm candy once in a while though. Didn't you have the beef noodle stew when we went for your birthday?"

"You have seventeen texts," Cereza bit back. "I don't believe that for a _minute_. Oh--dont you roll your eyes at me, Jeanne. I want you to be happy but I'm not going to pretend I'm not jealous."

"That's more my style anyway."

"Excuse me?" Cereza turned after Jeanne pushed her off and stood up. "You won't even admit you're popular with the ladies. Precisely what are _you_ jealous of, dear?"

Jeanne smiled at her and shook her head. "Did you want a ride?"

 

_B_

 

Of course Bayonetta did. 

Her mood vastly improved once she was riding behind Jeanne. The colors and lights of the few blocks separating Bayonetta's apartment from the restaurant blurred and the wind tugged at their hair.

Bayonetta pointed at an empty lot behind an alleyway. "Go in there and do the spin thing!"

Jeanne turned the bike and picked up some speed and turned quickly to peel a donut. The screech was obscene, leaving marks on the pale old asphalt.

Cereza burst out laughing, holding tighter, and Jeanne could feel the vibrations in her back where cereza hugged her. She leveled the bike and hauled it out of there before a police officer, or worse, one of her kids' parents saw them.

"You're going to be the death of me, Bayonetta."

Bayonetta leaned into Jeanne's shoulder. She was still laughing.

They pulled up next to a car at a stoplight. It was playing good, beat-heavy rap loud out of its open window. Jeanne could feel Cereza beginning to sway and bop to the beat behind her.

"There you go. There's the Bacardi," Jeanne murmured.

"I'm having fun," Cereza whispered back. "I can't enjoy time with you?"

Jeanne felt Cereza's hands grip each other around her waist. She squared her shoulders a bit.

"I missed you too...all right? I just didn't want to send you too many texts because it's...weird," Jeanne sighed. "I like you so much. Please don't forget that."

" _I'm going to bite your head off,_ " came a venomous whisper behind her.

"I was wrong. _There's_ the Bacardi."

Bayonetta said, "I was staring at my phone for hours, days...because you thought it would annoy me? Jeanne, _bugger_."

Jeanne took a deep breath. The light turned green, and then it was too noisy to keep talking until the restaurant, and then when Cereza moved to climb off to walk in, Jeanne hugged her to pull her back.

"Maybe you have a point," she murmured into Cereza's ear.

"Maybe you did, too."

"Well, what are we going to do?"

Bayonetta leaned back, and grinned at Jeanne almost upside-down. "Well...whoever wins the pot. Wins."

And a large bowl of soup and several spring rolls and quite a few episodes of _Storage Wars_ in the background later, Jeanne may well have lost on purpose.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest with you all--I don't like this chapter. I worked very hard on it and rewrote it multiple times, and I hope it's entertaining, because I'm a recovering perfectionist and I'm ok with putting out stuff with flaws now (after years of therapy). But after I re-experienced the game today, I don't feel like this story, and particularly this chapter works. 
> 
> And the reason why is--after all the entirely non-subtle comments and behavior Jeanne and Bayonetta exhibit toward each other in the game, and Jeanne's coy answer to the head witch about her and Cereza facing each other before--it's more fun for me to imagine that Jeanne and Cereza were actually going steady during the witch wars. I just enjoy relationships that have been going on for a while much better than new ones in stories. Which would make this an AU, or even just an alternative imagining of events, which is what I love about fanfiction anyway. Every interpretation can be correct depending on the experience you want.
> 
> Thank you for reading and enjoying and leaving encouraging comments <3


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